The .22-caliber bullet entered underneath her left eye, penetrating her skull and lodging in the brain stem, causing instant death. Her body fell over in a heap. Will kneeled near her, the mother of two of his four children, and pulled the trigger again. I never got to say goodbye.
- Matt Watts in The Independent Florida Alligator
The United States is a bit like a 375-pound, middle-aged man with a heart condition walking down a city street at night eating a Big Mac. He’s sweating profusely because he’s afraid he might get mugged. But the thing that’s going to kill him is the burger.
- David Rothkopf in Foreign Policy
Coaches, though, describe a player who tried almost too hard at times, who wanted to be too perfect. No detail was too small. If he was facing a hard-hitting defense, he’d plan to play at exactly 222 pounds. If he wanted more quickness the next Saturday, he’d decide early in the week he’d weigh 216 pounds instead.
At Baylor, athletes meet once a week with sports psychologists. “We told him, ‘Griff, if the ball’s not right on the point or everything doesn’t work out great, it upsets you. That’s your weakness,’ ” Kazadi said. “We showed him the bad side of being a perfectionist.”
Griffin said he understood and immediately set out to correct it.
- Rick Maese in the Washington Post
Near the tarp is a small pool. Before he became a household name, King was a construction worker with a union card. He set the stone surrounding the pool. In black tile, he inscribed two dates: 3/3/91, the night he suffered over 50 blows from police batons, and 4/29/92, the night the rioting began.
- Kurt Streeter in the Los Angeles Times
Harris-Moore was sentenced in December to seven years in state prison for dozens of crimes, including burglary and identity theft, stemming from his sensational two-year run from the law in stolen boats, cars and airplanes. A self-taught pilot, he was finally apprehended in a hail of bullets in the Bahamas in 2010, after he crash-landed a plane stolen from an Indiana airport.
- Gene Johnson in the Associated Press
Israelson had been writing an imaginary letter to Atteberry for more than 30 years. But now the man became a bit of a boy again, writing an essay to a man who had once mattered. He struggled to find the right words.
- Tom Hallman Jr. in The Oregonian
Steven Egan, 52, was hunting with his girlfriend, Lisa Simmons, in the northern part of the state when he mistook her for a hog and shot her.
- Eric Pfeiffer in Yahoo! News
At the White House, too, coming up to the 1972 campaign, he planned total war against all that was leftist, peacenik, spineless and immoral. This was dog-eat-dog, and attack was the best possible form of defence. When the longed-for call from Nixon came, he left his lucrative law practice to do whatever he was asked. He would chew people up, and spit them out, for the president. He would break all the fucking china, as Nixon once suggested to him, to get an order ready to sign on his desk by Monday morning. “The president wants to see you, Mr Colson,” were words that set his spine tingling, as it did when he heard martial music, or the words “United States”. To be the president’s point-man, his hatchet man, taking down his hunched, muttered confidences on yellow legal pads, was the fulfilment of his life.
Pace was 8 when his older brother accidentally shot him in the head while playing with their father’s .22 caliber rifle in the barn on the family’s Texas farm. It was October 1917. Doctors decided to leave the bullet alone, deeming brain surgery too risky. The bullet remained in place for 94.5 years.
- Claire Noland in the Los Angeles Times
He insists he grew his mustache only because his father had one. But this filial devotion didn’t endear him to teammates. Several players conspired to grow their own mustaches so Jackson would blend in. (Take a moment to appreciate that logic: The A’s were so annoyed with Jackson, they decided to look more like him.) Then the real twist: Finley, who was never a wallflower when it came to marketing gimmicks, offered $300 to anybody on the team who also grew one. Thus, the “Mustache Gang” was born.
The fact that the A’s then won three straight World Series, from 1972 to 1974, shouldn’t be considered mere coincidence, said Aaron Perlut, chairman of the American Mustache Institute. “It could be argued that there is no greater performance-enhancing device in baseball,” he said. Perlut also claims that mustaches improve good looks by 38%. “That’s science,” he said.
- Scott Cacciola in the Wall Street Journal
After the Heat acquired Cleveland State point guard Norris Cole on draft night, James invited him to Bath to work out. On a table in James’s living room was a book about leadership called The Ant and the Elephant, a gift from a friend. James is not much of a reader, but he opted for the book over TV. “It’s about an ant who is trying to find his way to this great place, this oasis, but the only way to get there is to train an elephant who wants to get there too,” James says. “At one point the ant is on the elephant’s back and they are walking through the sand and there is a pack of lions, and the elephant scares the lions off. The ant is like, I have the toughest friend in the world. But later that day the elephant sees a mouse, and he gets scared and runs away. The ant can’t understand how this big creature could be so dominant over a pack of lions but so scared of a mouse. The ant has to train the elephant to let him know, You are the biggest, baddest thing out here.” James pauses for a moment. As a member of a supposed juggernaut, he can relate to the ant. And as a 250-pound force of nature, he can relate to the elephant. “I took a lot from that,” he says.
- Lee Jenkins in Sports Illustrated
Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.
- “Rick” (played by Humphrey Bogart) in “Casablanca”
“He glanced at the girl lying asleep on one of the twin beds. Then he went over to one of the pieces of luggage, opened it, and from under a pile of shorts and undershirts he took out an Ortgies calibre 7.65 automatic. He released the magazine, looked at it, then reinserted it. He cocked the piece. Then he went over and sat down on the unoccupied twin bed, looked at the girl, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his right temple.”
- The final paragraph of J.D. Salinger’s short story “A Perfect Day for Bananafish”